Don't Leave Me
by epephany
Summary: Sherlock and John go on the run from a madman who has put out a kill order for them. But things get even worse when John is shot by a masked gunman. However, these tragic events bring the two men closer together than ever when they admit, for the first time out loud and to themselves, that they are in love with each other.
1. Chapter 1

Don't Leave Me

"Come e Me

on." Sherlock hissed as he impatiently watched John stuff clothes into an old duffle bag. Watson glanced over at him, saw the hard line his mouth was set in, and with a quick jerk, zipped the bag shut. The detectives quickly and quietly hurried down the carpeted stairs of their apartment and crossed the small foyer. Sherlock reached out a long trench coat clad arm and flung the front door open, icy wind exploding into the building immediately as they stepped out into the night.

"Stay hidden." Holmes said quietly. They crossed the street and hustled along in the shadows.

"I told you we shouldn't have gone back." John spat, his words curling into a frosty mist after they floated from his lips. The dark haired man stopped abruptly, causing the smaller man to stumble into his back. He turned to face him,

"As much as I would love to argue about this with you right now, I think I'm going to have to choose running for my bloody life over it." He turned briskly on his heels and started to walk again. John hurried to catch up with his long strides.

"No, you are not getting off that easy. Admit it, I was right and you were wrong."

"I will not because I was not wrong." Watson's jaw dropped.

"I told you that Francis would be there if we went back and that he would not appreciate it if he found two detectives rifling through his things. And I told you that if he found us, _which he did_ , that he would send his bloody henchmen after us, just like he does everyone who gets in his way!"

"And I told you that I had reasons for going back." Holmes told him.

"And those 'reasons' were to piss me off!" John sputtered. Sherlock didn't say anything, just kept up his cool pace. Honestly he was terrified, he knew as well as John did that if anyone crossed Francis, they were dead within twenty four hours. But he also knew that if he showed even the slightest crack in his calm faced façade that John would crack. And as hard as it was for him to admit it to himself, he needed John. He was his best and only friend and he…He was more than his best friend…he would never _ever_ tell him, but…John was everything to him. Snow started to drizzle down as he thought this, little white tuffs swirling around them, sparkling off the flickering streetlights.

"Let's cut through here." He said, gesturing to the upcoming alleyway. They dipped into it quickly; the bricks on either side of them were crumbling and faded. John stared at Sherlock's back, wondering if tonight would be their last night alive. There was so much he wanted to tell him, about how when he sees one of his rare, easy smiles his stomach knots itself up and his heart wages war with the feelings he's hiding. He wanted to tell him…but he couldn't, everything they had, their friendship, their work…everything would just…evaporate. The men's boots clomped on the cracked pavement. Sherlock thought of John walking so close behind him, he cleared his throat and gave himself an inward shake. Two shots rang out, fast and loud like a firecracker. The sounds exploded into the still night, echoing through the empty street. Sherlock whipped around just in time to see the silhouette of a man running from the mouth of the alley. He narrowed his dark eyes, wondering if those shots were meant for them, when he heard,

"Sherlock-" He turned around and saw John staring at him, a strange expression on his face. Holmes looked down and saw Johns hand wrapped around the side of his stomach…it was gushing blood. Shock and horror rocketed through Sherlock's body when he saw it. He dove for John just as he collapsed. He lowered him to the ground, cradling his head in his hand, the spikes of his short hair tickling his palm.

"John…John-" He started, his voice shaking. He couldn't think. Sherlock Holmes couldn't think.

"Sherlock…" John was all he had, he loved him more than anything…he loved him more than anything…that's what he was…he loved him…more than he thought he did, so much more than that.

"No,"

"Sherlock…" Holmes moved his free hand to cup his face.

"No! John…you were shot…you're bleeding…and I can't help you." John's eyes softened as he relaxed his head into his hand.

"You shouldn't have to help me." Tears started slipping from Sherlock's eyes; they rolled down his cheeks and fell onto John's eyelashes.

"Yes…I do. I was supposed to protect you and now…"

"Sherlock…" The dark haired man's shoulders began to shake; great sobs tore at his chest as he looked at John. The blonde looked at him, he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, the virgin white snowflakes gathered in his curls, his face streaked with shiny rivers, his lower lip trembling…

"John…I love you." His eyes snapped back up to look at him, not daring to believe that Sherlock loved him the way he loved him.

"I love you too Sherlock." The detective looked up, then back down at john.

"No John…I'm in love with you." He said, his voice cracking, as if he had wanted to say this for a long time and had finally got the chance to say it. John fumbled to grab reach up and grab his hand.

"I'm in love with you too. You aggravate me, you push my buttons, you drive me insane, you are a high-functioning sociopath and I am completely in love with you." Tears were pouring down Sherlock's face as he leaned down and kissed him. He parted his lips and kissed him softly yet passionately. John's mouth moved with his, he slipped his tongue into his mouth gently. The kiss was filled with love and longing, they had loved each other all these years. John's grip on Sherlock began to slacken. Holmes pulled away, noticing that his lovers' hands weren't wrapped around him as tightly anymore. John's hand completely fell away from him, his eyes going out of focus.

"No," Sherlock muttered. He grabbed Watson's hand, bringing it close to his chest. He moved his thumb over his wrist, he didn't feel a beat.

"No," He leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips. The snow was pouring now, the wind tearing at his body, but he didn't notice. He leaned down again, kissing him again, more frantically this time.

"No, no, no," He said, he placed two of his fingers at the pulse point on Johns' throat. John's eyes, John's beautiful dream inducing eyes, began to slip.

"Don't- Don't you dare close your eyes." Sherlock pleaded, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he pressed John's face close to his chest. The detective looked at him again…John's eyes slid shut.


	2. We're Safe Now

Don't Leave Me Part Two

One Year Later

Sherlock stood in front of a full length mirror, trying in vain to tie his inky black tie. He wished John was here.

"Do you need help?" A voice called from behind him. Sherlock's lips turned up and he spun around. John was grinning at him, his eyes slightly blurry from the long night. Watson placed his hands on his wheelchair and pushed himself forward. Sherlock kneeled down to his level, scooting close the John's half naked body. As Watson looped the tie around his boyfriends' neck Holmes' eyes traveled down John's golden muscled chest, memories of last night exploding into his mind. Since the bullet that had once made John immobile pierced his spine, he couldn't move as much as he used to. But last proved that physical therapy had been working. John's lips had skated over every inch of Sherlock's body; his war-worn hands touched and stroked every piece of him. John finished the last loop, adjusted the tie so it was straight then sat back in his chair and admired how handsome Sherlock was. Holmes leaned over Watson and placed a sweet lingering kiss on his lips. He stood back up and looked back at the mirror.

"Don't forget to take The Pill." He told the blonde, who in response, took his chair and started wheeling away fast. Sherlock spun around to see his boyfriend's weak escape attempt. He hustle after him, grabbed the handles of his chair and wheeled him backwards.

John sat pouting in the kitchen as Sherlock rummaged through his dozens of bottles of medication. John had been taking handfuls of pills ever since he had gotten shot, but The Pill was the worst. It was beige and scratchy and was the size of his thumb. Holmes found the correct bottle, shook out the horse pill and handed it to Watson. While the dark haired man fix him a glass of water, the blonde stared dreamily at his butt. It was round and perky, and a lot firmer than one would suspect, he knew because of the many times his hands had drifted to and gripped it. He gave a small smile and wheeled himself forward, just inches from Holmes' body. Sherlock was well aware of this instant closeness and pretended to be busy as he finished filling the glass. John looped one of his fingers in Sherlock's belt loop and tugged him closer. They had been in witness protection ever since that night they crossed Francis. They were tucked away in a neat little suburban house in East London, it started out as just a safe house, now it was so much more than that. It was where they could love each other and be themselves in the privacy and comfort of their own home. The accident had put a strain on their relationship; the feeling that had poured out of them like a running faucet couldn't be taken back or ignored. The first time John had gained consciousness he had woken up in the hospital and the first thing he said was 'Sherlock.' There was a faint rustling then a tall dark frame was hovering over him. Sherlock had grabbed his hand and began to cry. He blamed himself for him getting hurt and he said that he could never forgive himself. With the little but of strength John had in him, he squeezed Sherlock's hand and told him that he was alive because of him.

"I…I still love you Sherlock." Holmes looked up at him, dark eyes shining.

"How can you love me…after everything I've done?" He had asked him. Then they kissed; a kiss that held power and longing and trust and passion and a million other things. That day they were sent to witness protection. Back in the present, Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled down into John's lap. He was considerably taller than him so he sat sideways and leaned his body against him. John kissed Sherlock on the side of his neck, feeling the quick thump his pulse against his mouth. Holmes closed his eyes as John's lips traveled up the side of his throat and floated across this jawline.

"I love you." John whispered into his ear, his breath tickling Sherlock. He smiled.

"I love you too." He told him.


End file.
